


Escape in Escapades

by avdubs



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Nightmares, Psychedelic drug use, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avdubs/pseuds/avdubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day of Draco trial, and Hermione Granger gives a testimony that leaves him confused and desperate for answers. From there, it's a wild ride he'll never forget. </p><p>*Warning: This story contains recreational drug use (including psychedelics), depression/anxiety, talk of suicide/worthlessness/hopelessness, and general self-destructive habits (i.e. poor eating habits, poor sleeping habits, poor personal hygiene. There is no mentions or implications of self-harm). If any of these things bother you or you can't handle reading about the mentioned above, it might be best if you don't read this story. I will not be offended in the slightest, your health comes first.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fic with Ron and Harry actually getting along with Draco and helping him, or trying to anyway. 
> 
> Also, this is a one shot. It's just in parts.

**May 16th**

 

**9:23 am**

 

Draco Malfoy sits impatiently outside the courtroom. Any second now they're going to call his name and it will be him sitting before the Wizengamot. His tugs at his tie, which feels much too tight around his throat. Blaise is in there now. This doesn't worry him much. Blaise had hardly any involvement in the events of the war. As for himself, well, he's scared shitless. He has no idea what his future will be at the end of all this.  

 

The clacking of heels against the smooth tiled floors can be heard from where Draco was perched. He watches through hooded eyes as the woman walks by without a glance in his direction. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. He takes one shaky breath. Then two. Then three. Then six.  

 

"Malfoy, Draco." says a rough voice he doesn't recognize.  

 

Draco jumps. His eyes snap open to find an abnormally tall man with a matching abnormally shiny head looking at him with a bored expression.  

 

He stands up and straightens his tie. He tilts his chin up and looks the man directly in the eyes. No one has to  _ know  _ that he's scared. Even if his knees are threatening to buckle any second.  

 

Draco follows the nameless man down a small corridor that housed one lone door. The disgruntled looking man opens it before he turns to nod at Draco. With one more shaky breath and a nervous tap at his tie, Draco steps into the courtroom.  

 

His breath catches in his throat at the sight before him. The members of the Wizengamot sit high above him. The room below the raised benches is empty except for one chair that sits directly in the middle. Countless faces stare down at him. How is it these were deemed public cases? And how many of those faces were sneering at him right this second? At least half of them must want him locked behind bars with his parents.  

 

His gaze falls to three people that make his heart skip a beat. There's a lump in his throat the size of a snitch. Potter, Granger and Weasley are all here, sitting side by side. He hasn't seen them since the Final Battle. Memories of the Room of Requirement...the fire...Granger screaming in agony on his drawing room floor...Weasley's screams of protest...the look on his face at the sight of his dead brother flash before his eyes. Potter looks exhausted, as though he hasn't slept since the War ended. Granger still looks frail and looks as though she'd rather not be here, while Weasley looks quite depressed. Kingsley clears his throat and gestures to the chair. Draco walks forward and sits on the edge of the chair.  

 

Kingsley looks down at the papers in front of him and says in a deep, booming voice, "You are Draco Lucius Malfoy? Son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?" 

 

"Yes." he says nervously.

Kingsley nods and scribbles something on the parchment before him.  

 

"Mister Malfoy, you are here because you were a known member of Voldemort's Death Eaters, two counts of attempted murder, one count for the use of an Unforgivable Curse, and one count as an accomplice to the murder of Albus Dumbledore."  

 

Draco nods. He feels sick. His skin prickles with heat. Please let this be over. Please let him go anywhere but Azkaban.

 

* * *

 

Draco's jaw drops when Potter is called to the stand to give his testimony. Is Potter going to speak of everything he had learned and witnessed during their sixth year? Will he tell them how he had pointed his wand right at Dumbledore's heart? Is Potter going to ensure that his school enemy went to Azkaban?  

 

"Mister Potter, please tell the court about your encounters with Mister Malfoy throughout the war."  

 

Harry talks about his suspicions of what Malfoy had been up to through their sixth year but that at the time he never had enough proof. He tells them about the necklace and the poisoned mead, about Katie and Ron.  

 

Draco swallows the lump forming in his throat. 

"Then there was the night at the Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore and I had gotten back from recovering what we thought was one of Voldemort's horcruxes and we saw the Dark Mark above the Astronomy Tower..." 

 

Harry goes on to explain how Draco had entered and he, Harry, was hidden beneath the stairs. Draco feels his face turn red at this. He remembers his conversation with Dumbledore that night...and to know that Potter had heard every word. He feels like he might be sick. 

"But Mister Malfoy didn't inflict any harm upon Dumbledore?"  

 

Harry shakes his head. "No. He only disarmed him. He didn't want to do it...he didn't want to be there. He was scared. He wasn't like the others."  

 

"It was a long time until we ran into Malfoy again. It was at his Manor. After we had been brought there by Snatchers. Bellatrix asked Draco to identify me and...he didn't. If he did, I don't think I'd be sitting here right now."  

Draco swallows hard. He remembers quite clearly the events of that night. He remembers what happened afterwards. His stomach lurches in anguish. Kingsley thanks Potter and dismisses him from the stand.  

 

"Hermione Granger, please approach the stand."

Hermione rises from her seat, steps around Ron and makes her way through the rows of seats. The silence is thick and is it just him or is the room getting hotter? Granger has  _ no  _ reason to be any degree of forgiving towards him. He  _ watched  _ her get tortured and didn't do a damn thing to stop it. He winced and cringed and gagged when his Aunt carved into Granger's arm.  

 

He watches her get closer and closer to the stand, and just when she's a few feet away, she stops. He frowns in confusion. Has she changed her mind? Is she going to say nothing at all? But then she was  _ looking directly at him  _ and his heart begins to pound against his ribs.  _ Why  _ is she looking at him? He stares back, trying to decipher her expression. But she's too far away. And then she's moving again, closing the small distance to the stand.  

 

Hermione sits down and fixes her gaze on Kingsley.  

 

"Miss Granger, please walk us through your encounters with Mister Malfoy during the war." 

Hermione looks at the court members nervously before she straightens her back and lifts her chin.  

 

"The only one I have is the night at Malfoy Manor." her voice is slightly shaky, and it bothers her.  

 

"He was witness to the torture I endured at the hand of his Aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange."  

 

"Witness?" Kingsley asks.  

 

Hermione nods. "Witness." 

_ Shit.  _

 

"So what you are saying, Miss Granger, is that Mister Malfoy witnessed a fellow classmate be tortured at the hand of an adult and did nothing to stop it?"  

 

_ Shit. _

 

Hermione frowns. She looks furious. "I didn't say I expected him to do something. We went to the same school and...I didn't expect him to die for me. Because that's what would have happened, isn't it? That or he would have been tortured by his own family member. You asked me to walk you through my encounters and I am."  

 

Kingsley raises an eyebrow and looks quite displeased that she had talked to him that way, but he allows her to continue.  

 

"As Harry said, he saved all of our lives. If he had identified Harry right away, Dobby wouldn't have found Harry and Ron and we wouldn't have escaped."  

 

"Thank you, Miss Granger." 

Hermione does not move, however. She remains seated, wearing a fierce expression. Draco wishes she would speak already; he can no longer control the incessant tapping of his foot.  

"I have one more thing to say," she says boldly. "Er, if that's alright, your Honor."  

 

Kingsley frowns, as though she's pushing it and she knows this but ultimately nods. Hermione takes a deep breath and she looks as though she has fought over the very idea of saying whatever it is she was about to say, for days now. Draco feels like his heart is about to burst. 

 

"I know that Malfoy has done a few things that are hard to forgive, but I believe the important part for us all to remember is his lack of will and lack of enthusiasm. Harry was right when he said Malfoy was different than the rest. Malfoy didn't carry the same passion...and that should be counted for something." her voice wavers on her last sentence, and Draco thinks he sees her look at him again, but be can't be sure.  

 

After Hermione steps down from the stand and returns to her seat. It is then Ron that speaks and  repeats what Harry and Hermione had already said. He may be guilty, but to them, the pending punishment doesn't fit the crime.  

 

It's a close call. Twenty-seven to twenty-three, ruled in favor of a two year probation with weekly check-ins for the first six months. He's not happy about it, but it's better than a cell in Azkaban.  

 

* * *

 

**May 23rd**

 

**6:27 am**

 

He wanted to find her after his trial and ask her why she defended him like that. Draco  expected that boldness and forgiving nature from Potter, but Granger's different. Though she was still forgiving, she seemed to only give it when one deserved it. And he doesn't feel as though he deserves it at all. But he hadn't been able to find her after the court was dismissed; he hadn't expected her to stick around but he couldn't help but feel disappointed.  

 

Draco also does not expect to see her in a muggle coffee shop in Muggle London on a rainy Tuesday morning. 

 

He was been appointed a flat in Muggle London and was given a strict set of rules. No leaving the city, and no wand until his Probation Officer deemed him worthy of owning it once again, and weekly check-ins. He had wanted to scream at them for confiscating his wand, but it would only soil his limited freedom. Someone from the Ministry, and from what Draco pieced together, a Muggle-born, had shown him how to use electronics like the microwave, light switches, and television. He learned about plumbing and muggle money and important social manners.  

 

He was also informed that he would be working at the Ministry as a file clerk. When he had pointed out the fact that he wouldn't have his wand to hand over for inspection, they retorted that arrangements had already been made.  

 

That was only a week ago and already he's developed a daily routine, which leads him to this very morning. His daily routine that he found he quite enjoys. Up at five-thirty, shower, dress, walk to the coffee shop five blocks over, grab a pastry or scone and coffee, walk through the park nearby and arrive at work fifteen minutes early. It's the only peaceful part of his day, the morning. As if the monsters are still sleeping.   

 

He hurries into the coffee shop to avoid completely ruining his hair in the rain when he sees  _ her  _ standing off to the side, staring at the menu. His heart rate skyrockets. He's been waiting for this opportunity, but didn't have the faintest idea how to find her. But here she is now, just meters away.  

 

Her hair is damp and frizzy and her bright yellow raincoat is glistening with water droplets. Draco rolls his eyes. Of course Granger wears an actual raincoat. She looks down at her watch, sighs and gets in line behind an older woman. Draco hurries to the spot behind her.  

 

What exactly should he say? There are plenty of ways to phrase his burning question and he can't decide on a single one. The line moves quickly and before he knows it, Hermione is next. He's running out of time. He needs to say something now! Even if it's just to get her attention. But his mouth seems to have glued itself shut.  

 

Hermione huffs impatiently and glances at her watch again. Is she late for work? He still has plenty of time. Then again, he has no idea whether she works at the Ministry or not. He never sees much besides the small file room in which he works, the men's bathroom and the lobby. Perhaps he would see her in the cafeteria, but he refuses to eat in there.  

 

The boy behind the counter smiles warmly as he hands her her coffee. Hermione kindly thanks him and walks right past Draco without noticing him.  

 

Draco stands flabbergasted, positively puzzled as to how she didn't see him. Draco bolts after her, back into the rain and gloomy streets.  

 

"Granger!" he calls, finally finding his voice. 

She's nearly at the corner when she hears the familiar voice. 

 

Hermione whips around, her eyes wide briefly before her body relaxes and she adopts an almost knowing expression. Like she's been expecting this. He stops in front of her, panting slightly and suit now soaked. She lets him catch his breath.  

 

She waits for him to speak as he struggles to ease his breathing. Draco swallows the lump that was already forming in his throat. He forces himself to look directly at her and put his best brave face on. She checks her watch again and Draco feels his heart drop into his stomach. In fear that she's about to leave again, he knows he has to say something now.

"Why did you defend me at my trial? Why didn't you tell them to just whisk me off to Azkaban?"he blurts out abruptly. 

 

"Why do you want to know so desperately?" she asks.  

 

"Desperately is not-" 

 

"Fine, but my question remains. Why do you want to know? You got off didn't you? You're not stuck in Azkaban." she reminds him, almost defensively.  

 

He can't explain the feelings that consume his body. He feels the guilt that he tried to tuck away invade his stomach and the confusion that has been tormenting him since his trial. It's all too much. The stress, the guilt, the constant second guessing of his verdict, worrying about his parents. Before he realizes it, there are hot tears slipping down his cheeks, mixing with the cool rain. Hermione stares at him in alarm. She wasn't expecting this. 

 

"I don't-" he chokes on the lump in his throat. "I don't understand and I need to."  

 

This all feels wrong. And odd. She has never seen Draco Malfoy cry and she wasn't exactly planning on witnessing that today. He seems so...broken and Hermione can't help but feel sorry for him right now.  

 

"I should be in Azkaban right now--with my parents. Why am I not in Azkaban? Why did you defend me?" his voice breaking as his face crumbles.  

 

He's scaring her slightly now. She's never seen him like this before. Raw. Torn apart. Begging for something. From her. 

 

"Harry and Ron defended you too..." she says quietly.  

 

Draco scoffs. "I expect that from them, moreso Potter. But you—you have no reason to defend me, Granger. I--I watched you get tortured by my lunatic Aunt!"  

 

"I know!" she shouts over the heavy rain and his yelling. Merlin, why is he yelling?  

 

"So why." he asks again, quieter now.  

 

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut before opening them again. She casts her gaze to the ground and looks quite uncomfortable now.  

 

"My Grandmother once said to me," she says slowly, carefully, softly as if she's had her answer prepared all this time. "People are like icebergs. Don't judge by what you see on the surface, because there's always more below." 

He blinks. That gives him no answers.  

 

"What?" he manages.  

 

She sighs, as if she'd rather not explain this.

"Malfoy...you weren't ever just a Death Eater or a Pureblood or a Slytherin or a Malfoy. You're more than that. And I've knew that for a while now and...I want you to have a chance." 

 

His tears are almost dry against his cheeks. He's shaking slightly, the rain is seeping through his layers. Hermione's cheeks turn red despite the chilly weather.  

 

She wants him to have a chance. But why? What does she see that he doesn't? 

"I'll see you around, Malfoy." she says finally. "Take care of yourself."  

 

All he can do is nod.

 

* * *

 

**May 27th**

 

**6:26 am**

 

She sees him again four days later and this time, he does not cry.

She's sitting at the counter of the coffee shop, which ran along the floor to ceiling windows—reading a book with a cup of coffee next to her, when she sees him walk in. He looks tired and miserable. She feels a twinge of guilt as she watches him get in line to place his order.  

His back is stiff and straight as he waits in line. She watches as his slender fingers tangle in his unkempt hair and rub at his neck, most likely massaging the sore muscles. If he's anything like her, he stores his stress in his shoulders and neck.  

 

Draco is placing his order now. He steps to the side, keeping his distance from the elderly man beside him and stares at the menu. Hermione bsit her lip, trying to decide if she definitely wants to do this.  

 

He has his coffee and Hermione is on her feet moving towards him before she even realizes she has gotten out of her seat. She nudges past a woman talking adamantly on her cell phone and finds herself standing directly in front of Draco, coffee in hand and looking even more exhausted than she imagined.  

 

"Draco," she acknowledges.

"Granger." he responds curtly. 

 

He's completely embarrassed about his outburst the other day. He saw her when he came in but wanted to completely avoid talking to her—but she completely butchered that.  

 

"Care to join me?" she asks, pointing to her reserved seat.  

 

"Why?"  

 

She looks offended, hurt, momentarily before cocking her head to observe him. His insides squirm as she looks him over, her gaze analyzing the features of his face for what feels like minutes. 

"Because you need company. And so do I. Sit with me." her voice is stern, leaving him no time or thought for refusal.  

 

Draco follows her to her spot and occupies the seat next to her. Down the road, Draco would see this moment as the start of his friendship with Hermione Granger, and perhaps, more importantly, the first day of his new life.  

 

* * *

 

**June 10th**

 

**12:07 pm**

 

Since that particular morning, Draco has breakfast with Hermione every single day. They meet at precisely twenty-six past six and sit at the same window seat they had on the first morning just weeks before. They talks of all sorts of things; Goblin Wars, the best brands of quills, how Draco was doing at work, their favorite coffee flavor at what they designated their coffee shop and more. He learns she wasn't working in the Wizarding World, but in fact at a book shop just a few streets over. It is that very morning that she suggests they meet in the park for lunch. 

Which is why he is currently laying by the large pond with his socks and shoes discarded carelessly beside him and his pant legs rolled up. Hermione lies beside him in a simple maroon sundress, her hair sprawled out around her.  

 

"Do you have nightmares, Draco?" she asks absentmindedly.

Draco sits up, propping his head on his arm and looks at her. She looks troubled, her gaze focused on the wispy clouds above them.  

 

"Yes, quite often." he admits quietly.  

 

Hermione nods and rolls onto her side so she is facing him. "Me too."  

 

"Dreamless Sleeping-" 

 

She shakes her head violently. "No, I-it's just not a good idea."  

 

He doesn't press her further. Hermione, however, isn't done discussing this subject.

"What are they about? Your nightmares."

He cringes. It's an incredibly personal question, yet he feels no shame in giving her answers. She's given him more than he was expecting—her friendship, for one. 

"My mum and dad dying. Voldemort winning and taking over. My trial ending differently. Death Eaters finding where out where I live." He could gone on. He could tell her that he relives many moments from the war in his nightmares, but that's too much.  

 

She nods. She's watching the clouds again. It is then that he notices the circles under her eyes. How much sleep does she actually manage?  

 

A gentle breeze ripples through the grass—a welcoming break from the sun's rays beating down on them. Draco hears a young child screeching in delight in the distance. It feels good to get out of the Ministry—away from scornful glares and hushed whispers as he passed. Here, no one knows him. No one knows the horrible things he's done. The mistakes he's made.  

 

"Sometimes I have nightmares about Voldemort finding my parents. Those are easily dismissed though—that could have never happened." she says almost matter-of-factly. 

"Why not?" he presses.  

 

It's something he's pondered since the kindling of their friendship, but a subject he's never pressed. They're all so fragile these days, and the very last thing he wants is to reduce this woman to tears. He knows how it is to feel vulnerable, scared despite the imminent danger being gone and broken.  

 

"I obliviated their minds. I made them forget about me, completely. I sent them to Australia, gave them new names and everything. They were, and still are, completely safe." she says, speaking so quickly it's as if all her words are strung together.  

 

"Aren't you going to find them? Give them their memories back?" 

She laughs and he feels stupid for asking.  

 

"No," she says, sighing heavily. "Not until I know for sure this is all over."

"You don't think it is?"

 

"You do?"

 

It's at this moment Draco realizes he is becoming increasingly intrigued by Hermione Granger and her brilliant, troubled mind. He stares at her while she watches the sky; her curls nestling on top of the grass, her skin pale in comparison to the sun—though he has no room to talk, her delicate fingers toying with a piece of grass and the slow rise and fall of her chest. 

He likes Hermione, he realizes. Not romantically, but as a friend, as good company for talks about trivial matters and laying in the grass, yes, he very much likes her.

 

* * *

**June 25th**

 

**8:54 pm**

 

"This bar is a bit, erm--" she doesn't know what to say; dingy, creepy, unsanitary, dull, disgusting, horrible... 

 

"I have some whiskey back at my flat." he offers, agreeing with her that this bar is in fact, complete shit.  

 

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that a probation violation?"  

 

It's a serious question, he knows this. Annoying though it may seem at times, Hermione is excellent at keeping him in line. She reminds him of his check-in dates, and is constantly asking if he was violating his probation in any way. He never has and doesn't plan on it. Limited freedom is not something he enjoyed. No, it was best he stay on his best behavior and just get this over with.  

 

"No," he tells her firmly.  

 

She studies him for a moment, decides he's telling the truth and shrugs. The smile she shoots him is radiant and dazzling, she could have blinded him with it.  

 

"Your flat it is, then. Better off anyway, Grimmauld Place is a mess." she mutters, kicking a rock with the toe of her shoe as they begin to walk away. 

Draco walks with his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking down at the ground. 

"Sorry, where?"  

 

"Oh," she says, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. "Grimmauld Place. It used to belong to Sirius, Harry's Godfather. But after he—well, it's Harry's now, and as my parents are in Australia and Harry—we live there, Ron too. It's nice, but none of us are very neat."  

 

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't known any of this before now. 

"You? Messy?" he asks with a laugh.  

 

"Shocking, right?" she laughs, then sighs. "I can navigate my organized chaos at least. Ron and Harry are just--" 

 

"Pigs?" 

 

She shoots him a scolding glare. "I was going to say a bit unsanitary." 

He apologizes, then realizes they're close to his flat. He tells her this and points out his building. It's only five stories, and from what Draco could tell when first moved in, there aren't many occupants. He doesn't mind this so much, more privacy for him. The outside is built of brick and looks a bit weather-worn. 

Hermione crosses her arms over chest, pulling her sweater a bit tighter to her body. It's chilly for a June night, but she doesn't mind. Draco holds open the front door for her and they step into the brightly lit lobby.

"It's nice." she comments, noticing the sparse, outdated furniture and flowery wallpaper.  

 

Draco shrugs, grabs her by the hand and leads her towards the stairs. They walk up three flights of stairs, take a left and stop six doors down the hall.  

 

"This is me." he says.

She notes the number eight in gold on his door.  

 

They enter and he shuts the door behind her. He flicks on the lights and heads to the kitchen.  

His flat is small, she notes. The living room holds a couch, an armchair, a bookcase and a television. There's a small eating area at the entrance of the apartment, and a hallway to the left of the living room.  

 

"Make yourself comfortable." Draco shouts from the kitchen.  

 

Hermione obliges and heads to the couch. She kicks off her shoes and tucks her legs under her on the couch. She pulls off her sweater—Draco's flat is quite toasty and looks around again; familiarizing herself with her surroundings.  

 

Draco returns a moment later with two glasses, one in each hand. He hands one to her as he passes and sits down next to her on the couch. She thanks him and takes a sip. It's smooth, yet harsh and exactly what she needs right now. Draco sighs next to her and nestles into the couch.  

 

"So," he says, his eyes closed. "Do Potter and Weasley know you're here?" 

Hermione inhales sharply, fussing with her socks. "They do, actually." 

He opens his eyes and looks at her, shocked. He takes a sip and rests the glass against his leg. Hermione finds herself staring at it.

"And what do they think of our friendship? Have they given you hell for it?" 

"They haven't." she says. "I was surprised, as you could guess. Ron was a bit unsure of it at first, but I think he understands."

"Understands that you've befriended a person who hated and bullied the three of you for years? And he didn't have an aneurysm?" Draco scoffed, swirling the gold liquid in his glass.  

 

"We're all a bit different now, Draco." she says pointedly.  

 

He watches her take a sip, watches her plump lips meet the glass and watches as she closes her eyes and sighs in relief. He shifts uncomfortably and looks away quickly. Different, indeed.  

 

* * *

 

**June 26th**

 

**12:36 am**

 

They're both drunk. The bottle of whiskey is empty, sitting on the coffee table in front of them. A bottle of half empty scotch sits next to it. Hermione's face is pink and his eyelids are heavy, along with his heart. He knows all too well this is what drinking does to him, yet it never stops him from pouring a glass.  

 

Hermione has her legs in his lap and he hair is sprawled out around her again. And she looks fucking beautiful. He really couldn't help but notice, because well, anyone would.  

 

And then, out of nowhere, she's crying. Hot, thick tears are tumbling down her cheeks and her body is shaking. Her sobs are broken and restricted, like she's trying to hold it in. Draco's holding her in a matter of seconds. He knows how this feels too, has cried himself to sleep countless nights, wishing for someone, anyone to hold him.  

 

"Shhh," he murmurs into her mass of wild curls.

This does nothing to silence her cries, however. Her face is buried in his neck and her fingernails are clawing at his shirt. Her throat feels raw and her heart feels blocked up, so any emotions and memories fighting to escape.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, running a hand through the incessant tangles.

Hermione doesn't answer right away. She sniffles and tries to catch her breath in between sobs. 

"It's everything." she says finally—and her voice sounds so broken, so hopeless that it breaks his heart too.  

 

"I know." he murmurs.  

 

_ I know. _

 

* * *

 

**July 9th**

 

**3:07 pm**

It's a Sunday and Hermione's invited him to Grimmauld Place for tea. And Draco—Draco is a nervous fucking wreck, like he's about to meet her parents or something. It's only Potter and Weasley and at first he feels ridiculous for being afraid. But at the same time, he doesn't want their judgmental stares and passive aggressive comments and whatever else they were planning on throwing his way. He just—he didn't want to deal with any of it. But Hermione insisted, and he couldn't turn her down.  

 

So he pulls out the piece of paper she had given him three days ago and stares at the words.  

 

_ Number 12 Grimmauld Place _ . 

 

When he looks up, he gasps. Between houses eleven and thirteen is a house that hadn't been there just seconds before. Draco takes it in for a moment before ascending the stairs and knocking on the door.  

 

And of course, of fucking course, it's Ron that answers. He looks like hell when he answers, and Draco wants to laugh but he doesn't look much better either. Ron stares at him for a moment before nodding at Draco and stepping aside to allow him to step through.  

 

"Hermione!" Ron shouts—Draco scowls; a warning would have been nice. "Malfoy's here!"  

 

Ron turns to him then and tells him he can follow him down to the kitchen. Draco wants to ask what the point of this is, if he just called for Hermione, but says nothing instead. Hermione was telling the truth about Ron that night in his flat. He'd been in their home for forty-two seconds and Ron hadn't insulted him yet.  

 

The house was musty and dreary and depressing. Draco didn't understand how they lived here. At least his flat was free of dust and you could actually see out of his windows. There was music playing loudly upstairs, as Draco could hear it from the hallway.  

 

"Harry plays his music a bit too loud sometimes." Ron says almost apologetically, and Draco thinks his jaw is going to detach from the rest of his face. 

"I can tell." is all he can think to say.

Ron doesn't seem bothered by this and leads him down a set of stairs to the kitchen.  

 

Draco takes a seat at the long table and decides staring at the faded and worn wood is better than staring at Weasley's back. He can the red-head fumbling about, fixing the tea and what not. Hermione entered a moment later—her hair was falling from its bun and she was clad in a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt. Normally, when he saw her, she looked put together. Well-dressed.  

 

"Feeling alright, Hermione?" Ron asks, placing a mug in front of her.

Draco watches the interaction carefully—Ron's slow and sluggish movements, Hermione's lack of response and tired expression. He noted the dishes piled up in the sink.  

  
  


Harry doesn't come down once. Ron tells Draco he isn't feeling well and Hermione mutters that neither is she but she still held up the obligation. Draco feels slightly insulted—Hermione had invited him after all, but says nothing. He's awfully quiet today. Tea is awkward and tense. 

 

Hermione scowls the entire time and hisses at Ron whenever he tries to start conversation. Draco is utterly confused and his concern for Hermione is practically pouring out of him by the time their mugs are empty and the plate of biscuits is gone.

Ron offers to clean up and Hermione grabs Draco by his hand, leading him out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. They walk down the hallway and up the stairs. Draco's slightly nervous at this point—he knew this is where the bedrooms must be. Why was she taking him there?  

 

They stop at the third floor, take a right and stop at the third door on the left. She wrenches open the door, storms in ahead of him and begins pacing in the middle of her bedroom. He notices his hand feels cold since she let go of it. He doesn't like it. He wants to hold her hand again.  

 

"Gods he's suffocating me!" she nearly shouts.  

 

"Er, sorry?"  

 

Hermione stops and stares at him in disbelief, as though he should already know who she's talking about.  

 

"Ron!"  

 

"Oh."  

 

"He just-" she sighs, burying her face in her hands.

 

She feels so tired. So drained mentally and physically. She inhales deeply and pushes her hair out of her face.  

 

"I know he wants to take care of Harry and I, and he does it's just-"  

 

"Sometimes you feel like you can't breathe. Like you know they're trying to help but it just makes you angry." 

 

Hermione nods, sinking onto her bed. She lays down and curls into a ball. Draco moves to lay down next to her and she nuzzles against him. This is what she wanted. Her heart rate slows and her mind feels clear. Calm. Draco has an arm draped around her waist, his face touching hers.

"Sorry you had to endure that. Down in the kitchens." she says.  

 

"S'alright. It was-" 

 

"Awkward."

 

"Well, yeah. Why did you invite me over for tea anyway?"  

 

She groans and rolls over, facing him. She's looking directly into his steel grey eyes and notes the tiny blue speckles around his pupils. There's sadness buried in them. Hidden so one can see, except for her. She can see it. She wonders if he knows this.  

 

"It was Ron's idea, actually." she tells him, sounding as surprised as he looks. "Considering-" 

Draco just nods. Hermione presses her body against his, stealing his warmth. He breathes her in, just for a second. And it makes him wish he hadn't. There's a hint of a flowery scent, light but pleasant. She smells like books and slumber and was that a hint of jasmine he detected?  

 

"Draco will you stay here until I fall asleep?" she mumbles into his shirt.  

 

"Sure." he answers, beyond delighted that she had asked.  

 

"I'm just so tired..." 

He nods, making slow circles on her back with his hand. He lies still, getting lost in his thoughts as he puts her to sleep. He looks down to see she's fast asleep and just when he's about to pull away, it catches his eye. There. On her arm. Clear as day, as bright as the sun.  

 

Mudblood.  

 

The wound has just barely started to heal, bright against her pale skin. His stomach heaves and churns and he is running out of her room as fast as he can. Somehow he manages to find the toilet and sinks to his knees on the tile floor, spilling the empty contents of his stomach.  

 

He sits up and scoots back so he's propped up against the wall, head between his legs. His breathing is rapid at first as he tries to quell the trembling of his body. The tiles are cool against the back of his neck, a welcome relief in his current state.

He just—he can't fucking believe he ever called her that word. And he can't believe his Aunt had actually carved that word into her arm. He's ashamed, so fucking ashamed of himself. Of his family. Of every fucking Pureblood who thought the way he had. And then another wave of sickness washes over him when he realizes Hermione has to live with that mark on her arm for the rest of her life. It's never going to disappear, at least not completely. 

He retches again. His throat burns and there are tears streaming down his face. His body is shaking with sobs and he can't even fully explain why. It was bigger than her scar—bigger than the guilt making a home in his heart. It was consuming him slowly, weighing him down more and more with every passing day. And now it was all coming out. 

Much as he tried, he couldn't stop. The tears keep flowing and his heart keeps hurting and his body feels as though it's crumbling. He wishes he just didn't exist—he doesn't want to die, necessarily. But if he just never existed at all, well, that would be alright wouldn't it? He wouldn't have to deal with this. He'd never have the opportunity to fuck up his life, to hurt others. Others who upon getting to know, did not deserve that in the slightest. He had brought so much pain...how could he even begin to rectify that? How was anything going to be okay again? 

Draco doesn't hear the door open or the voice asking him if he's alright. He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Ron standing over him, looking extremely worried.  

"Malfoy, you alright?" he asks again, brows furrowed.

Draco doesn't know how to answer. If he were to be honest, no, he wasn't alright. Hermione had become his friend and she was just—she was simply wonderful. She listens and she's genuine and warm and ridiculously brilliant. He simply didn't deserve it. It was clear now. He was always unworthy of her.  

 

"I don't know."  

It's so soft, so quiet that Ron isn't sure the blonde had said anything at all. But then he's looking at Ron like he's so fucking confused right now—his eyes were wide and pleading and who the fuck was he right now? Looking to Weasley for help? But everything had just been so...completely mental for years and now it was over and Voldemort was gone but the sky didn't seem any bluer, the grass greener or the sun brighter. Everything still hurt and there was the dead left to bury and horrifying images that would haunt them in their dreams for perhaps years to come.  

 

And when this new world...the world that has hardly started rebuilding, will likely shun you for your past. What then? How could he make a future for himself if they didn't even trust him enough to give him a chance?  

 

It was too much. Ron was sitting down beside him now. Draco scooted away just an inch, hoping Ron wouldn't notice.  

 

"I don't think any of us are alright." Ron says lowly, his arms propped on his legs and hands clasped together. "But—oh what's that Muggle expression Hermione used--oh—Misery loves company." 

Draco doesn't quite understand but doesn't bother to express this. He wasn't crying so much anymore. His body feels heavy and it's hard to keep his eyes open. Ron notices and stands, tugging at Draco's arm as he does so.

"Come on. I'll show you to a spare bedroom." Ron says, steadying Draco.  

 

Draco follows because his mind is begging him to sleep. He's craving it. Craving the absence of consciousness and awareness of your own thoughts. Ron opens a door that Draco thinks is across from Hermione's bedroom and walks right over to the bed, laying down on top of the covers and rolling onto his side. 

"I'll bring some dinner up for you in a few hours if you'd like." Ron offers, his voice sounding higher pitched than he cared to admit.  

 

Draco doesn't know what to say because he's not particularly hungry and doubts he will be when he wakes because he's never really hungry these days, so he says nothing. Ron takes the hint after a moment or so and shuts the door quietly.  

 

* * *

 

 

**8:22 pm**

 

Draco wakes to Ron smiling apologetically at him in the semi-dark room. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows against the walls. He looks down to see a broken mug scattered on his floor, along with a puddle of tea.  

 

"Sorry." he mumbled.  

 

He shakes his head, throws back the covers (which is odd because he doesn't remember reaching for the covers) and stands quickly. Too quickly. His vision blurs and he sits back down, holding his head in his hands.  

 

"Don't be." Draco responds dully. "I should be going anyway."  

 

He makes to stand again, but Ron pushes him back down and hands him a tray. 

"I think you need to eat first, mate."  

 

There's a bowl of vegetable soup, some bread and a side of pudding. There's also a glass of pumpkin juice. He dips the bread in the soup and takes a few bites. Sips the juice. Wipes his mouth. Opens his mouth. Chews. Up and down, up and down. He looks down at the food and his stomach churns again. He sets the tray aside and lays back down.  

 

He bolts to the bathroom and heaves into the toilet but nothing comes up. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He waits until his stomach settles to a dull ache. Something he can deal with. After rinsing his mouth once more and splashing water against his face, he heads downstairs.

He's planning on slipping out as quickly and quietly as possible but his plans are interrupted when Ron calls his name behind him. Draco stops and lets out a low groan. He was so close... 

 

"You're leaving already?" he sounded disappointed. "Hermione's awake."

His chest tightened. "I have work tomorrow. I have to get home."  

 

"Oh, right. I'll tell Hermione she'll see you tomorrow?"

Draco didn't answer as he walked out the door, clicking it close softly behind him. 

Ron isn't so bad, he thought to himself as he walked down the steps and into the small square. It was breezy now and the ground was covered in puddles. The only small square illuminated solely by the yellowish glow of the street lamps. The air felt cool against his skin, a sensation his body welcomed eagerly.  

  
Much as he didn't want to admit it, Ron was a good care-taker. Hermione was in good hands and this knowledge comforted him. She was in good hands. She would be okay without him.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for recreational drug use, alcohol consumption, and sexual content. 
> 
> Song recs: 
> 
> Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars for 7:22 pm and 2:20 am 
> 
> BTSK by MS MR for July 19th 12:23 am
> 
> There is a side of Hansy in this fic, but it is minimal. Hansy will have it's own Part in the Aftermath Series. As will Ron.

**July 10th**  

 **6:26 am**  

He knows that she's sitting in their coffee shop, wondering where he is. But he can't bring himself to go down there. To explain why he hadn't shown up that morning. It's odd arriving at work this early, but at least it makes him look good in terms of his probation. The Ministry is almost completely empty, as no one is due until seven. So he takes a few moments to wonder the halls, free from scrutinizing glares. This is okay. Nothing spectacular, but a feeling that doesn't make him cringe or recoil. Maybe this is a better morning routine.  

Even he knows that's a lie.  

 

 **12:45 pm**  

He misses her already. Even though he tells himself this is for the better. She's better off without someone like him in her life.  

 

 **7:22 pm**  

He's home and lounging on the couch with a glass of scotch and tuning out some muggle program when he hears the ferocious knocking on his front door. Half scared out of his wits that he's somehow violated his probation and half annoyed that this visitor made him get up from his comfortable spot on the couch, he stalks over to the door, glass still in hand.  

He shouldn't be surprised to see Hermione standing there. She knows where he lives for Merlin's sake. But his jaw drops and he's scrambling for words as she seethes silently. Her arms are crossed at her chest and he can see her nostrils flaring dangerously.  

"What the hell, Draco?" she says finally, storming into his flat.  

He doesn't know what to say, how to begin. It's all there, swirling in his head like a fucking storm, but it won't come out. The words are stuck and he's left standing there looking like a fool.  

"Do you not want to be my friend anymore?" she asks blatantly.  

"No, it's not-" 

"Can you not get past your pathetic childhood grudges with Ron?"  

"No, actually-" 

"Was my place not up to your usual standards? Were you disgusted by-" 

"Hermione, look at this flat."  

She huffs and looks away from him. He bites his lip and sets his glass down on his small dining room table.  

"Ron said you left in a hurry yesterday." she says, her voice quieter now. Sadder.  

"I-" 

"Look, if you don't want to continue this anymore, that's all you have to say."  

" _I feel like I don't deserve you!"_ he shouts finally.  

The silence is deafening and she is giving him such a pitiful look it makes him want to crawl into a hole. Her expression softens and she steps towards him. He backs away, shaking his head. She looks wounded, but it's replaced with understanding as he finds the courage to speak again.  

"You just—you fell asleep yesterday and I saw your arm and I...How can you stand to look at me?"  

She closes the distance between them and pulls him close. Her hands are running up and down his back, her head resting against his chest. She pulls away slightly and looks up at him. All she sees is a broken man tortured by his past and it's breaking her already shattered heart.  

"Draco what were you supposed to do?" she asks softly, a whisper in his ear.  

Draco doesn't answer. His lips are pressed tightly together. _Something,_ he thinks. _Anything._  

"Your life would have been the cost, we both know that." she reminds him, just as she said the day of his trial.  

 _It doesn't matter_ , he thinks. But then again, he's never exactly been brave.  

Hermione sighs and leads him to a dining chair, sits him down and perches herself on his lap. She runs her hand through his hair, traces the line of his jaw and cheekbones. He almost melts into her touch.  

"Draco, I can look at you because I know you didn't...enjoy what happened to me. You were scared. And if you could have done something to stop it without risking your life, well, I'd be very appreciative. But you couldn't, and I get that. I am the Brightest Witch of Our Age, you know." she laughs, but he still looks morbid.  

Now she's getting agitated. She didn't care about this, so why did he?  

"Look if you this really bothers you that much, why not just make it up to me?" she's kidding when she says it but he looks at her with such relief, she can't bear to tell him it's just a joke.  

"Just tell me. Whatever you want. Let me give you different memories of me."  

She cocks an eyebrow. She stands and pulls him to his feet, giving him a once over.  

"Go change into something appropriately casual. I don't know about you, but I need a drink."  

 

 **8:18 pm**  

They approach the pub Hermione's chosen, arms linked together and conversing quietly to one another. He holds open the door for her, she nods in return. The bar is quiet, expected for a Monday night. Draco recognizes the flat, rectangular televisions hanging on the walls. They look like the one in his flat. The floors are a dark polished chestnut and the walls blood red. It was cozy, comfortable. Much better than the one they had visited a few weeks ago.  

She leads them to a booth towards the back, tossing her bag down beside her as she slides in. He sits opposite her. The waitress comes over before they can even glance at the menu and asks them what they'd like to drink.  

Hermione tells her a whiskey sour and Draco tells her a scotch. Their finest. Hermione cocks an eyebrow at this.  

"Can you still afford that?"  

He rolls his eyes. "My life might be in shambles but I still hold access to my family's gold."  

"Then you wouldn't be opposed to paying for mine, as well. Especially after this morning." she's cocky and she smiles innocently.  

How could he resist?  

 

 **10:33 pm**  

She's had three whiskey sours in the past two hours. Draco's amused by her flushed cheeks and giggling at every word he says and the way she was looking at him...that glint in her eye. But then something flickers and that mischievous glint is gone. He frowns and sets his glass down carefully on the table. Though his tolerance is provenly higher than hers, he still feels unstable.  

"Hermione?"  

"Ron never lets me have any fun." she mumbles, looking like a pouting child. "But you, you and I have fun."  

"We do?"  

She snorts. "More fun than I have with Harry and Ron."  

"It's always 'Hermione you need to eat, you look thin', 'Hermione, you've been sleeping a lot lately. You should see someone.' 'Alcohol is a depressant, Hermione. I read about it. You shouldn't be drinking so much.'." she says in a mocking voice.  

"He's just worried about you." he responds, now feeling worried too.  

"Well he doesn't need to be." she snaps, glaring at him from across their table. "Because I'm fine."  

He doesn't want to disagree, mainly because he's not in the mood for an argument. Especially when they've both been drinking. Hermione downs the rest of her drink then stares at him, hard. Her gaze unyielding. He begins to feel uncomfortable, unsettled when the corner of her lips perk up ever so slightly.  

"I feel like dancing."  

 

 **11:07 pm**  

The music is pounding in his ears and Hermione is....something else completely. She's wasted at this point, and so is he. Her body is pressed against his and her hips are moving in a tantalizing way. He wonders if she's yet noticed the bulge in his pants. If she has, she's not addressing it. And he's certainly not going to address it and possibly _destroy_ this night. It was rare that he had nights like these. Where a smile would actually grace his features, and he could breathe without his chest feeling like there was an anchor attached. _He was having fun._ And he was completely drunk. But he was has having fun. With Granger. That was the most important part.  

He closes his eyes, allowing himself to just feel the music. Hermione's body is still pressing against his, her drink sloshing all over the floor. His hands are traveling up and down her sides, across her stomach and back again. She throws her head back against his chest. He can hear her moan. It's the loudest sound in the room; louder than the blaring music and the drunken people around them.  

And then she stops.  

"I have to pee." she yells in his ear.  

He walks her to the bathroom and promises to wait outside. Too many creepy guys here for his liking. She promises she'll be right out.  

He waits and he waits. Ten minutes goes by then twenty and he's starting to get worried, and pissed. What the hell is she doing? He's debating whether he should just charge in there when she comes out, laughing hysterically with two pretty girls and a joint in her hand.  

She catches sight of him and lights up like a fucking Christmas Tree. The brightest, prettiest Christmas Tree he's ever seen.  

"Draco!" she shouts, running to him. "I made some friends."  

He glances back at the girls. They seem harmless. And Hermione is quite giddy. Not fidgety, just giddy.  

"Do you want some?" she asks, holding out the joint. "It's very relaxing."  

He cocks an eyebrow. Never in his life did he think Hermione Granger would be offering him drugs. A harmless drug. But technically still a drug.  

"Can we go somewhere a bit more private?" he shouts.  

The music is starting to give him a headache. And he just wants to be with her. His good mood is fading, he can feel it in his bones. The happiness always leaves. Always.  

Hermione nods and waves good-bye to the girls. One of them hands her a fresh joint.  

"For you and your friend." she says with a wink.  

Hermione blushes and Draco notices.  

 

 **11:34 pm**  

They sit against a brick wall in the side alley of the club they had stumbled upon. There's trash cans all around them, putting them in a sort of bubble—separating them from the rest of the alley. Of the world. The ground's a bit wet and the garbage doesn't exactly smell of roses but she's with him and she's drunk and a bit stoned at this point so she doesn't mind. She feels okay in this moment.  

Draco's side is pressed against hers as she lights the tip of the joint with a tiny little stick topped with a red nub. She waves the little stick in the air and tosses it away from them.  

"Have you forgotten you're a witch?" he says, watching as she inhales deeply.  

Her shoulders stiffen.  

"Have you forgotten we're in London?" she hisses, glaring at him angrily.  

The large cloud of smoke that escapes her mouth consumes them before slowly fading away. He's a bit stunned by her hostile reaction.  

Her response didn't make sense. Yes, they were in a muggle part of London but they were completely hidden by trash at the moment. No one would have seen. Something was off. And she clearly didn't want to talk about it.  

She passes him the joint and he takes a hit, feeling it burn against the back of his throat. Hermione seems more practiced at this, leaving him to suspect this was not her first time. They pass the joint back and forth in silence, watching their smoke float away into the night. His mind is calm and he's sort of just lost in his thoughts for a few moments. Hermione is staring straight ahead, almost as though she's looking through the brick wall. It's nice just sitting here with her. Not talking but still enjoying the other's company. It's only when his stomach growls that he speaks.  

"Should we grab a bite to eat?" he asks, his voice sounding out of place in the thick silence.  

Hermione nods and gets to her feet. She pulls him up and they head down the alley, arms linked together once more.  

  

 **July 11th**  

 **12:04 am**  

They're at the diner, sipping their coffee and waiting for their meals to arrive when he decides to broach the subject again. This time in a more sympathetic way. Maybe then she'll talk. She seems more relaxed than she had before.  

"Hermione," he says slowly. "Is everything alright?"  

"The war just ended two months ago, I think everyone's a bit fucked up from it." she snaps.  

Gods she was in such a sour mood now.  

"Well turns I don't give a shit about anyone else. I'm asking about you." he's not going to let her do this—brush off the subject.  

She stares at him, hard. He can practically see her brain searching for an appropriate answer. Something she could say that wasn't too personal. Something that would shut him up for a while.  

"You really want to know?" she asks, her voice low and shaky.  

Draco nods, setting his coffee to the side and leaning forward. She had his full attention.  

"I'm listening." he promises.  

Hermione inhales sharply before the words start gushing out of her mouth.  

"Harry can hardly sleep without waking up screaming from nightmares. He hardly eats or comes out of his room. Ron puts on the brave face and takes care of us the best he can, but I hear him cry in his room at night sometimes. His mum is still angry with him for choosing us over his real family, even though she won't admit it." 

Draco shakes his head. She's unbelievable. Even when he asks her what's wrong with _her,_ she talks about those around her.  

"Has Harry gotten help?" he asks, rubbing at his temples.  

"He won't even leave his room. I don't when the last time he even bathed was, come to think of it."  

Draco bit his lip," I might know someone that can help." 

Hermione quirked an eyebrow but Draco just shook his head. "I'll explain on our way." 

 

 **1:13 am**  

Hermione stands directly behind him as he presses the buzzer. No one answers at first. Hermione is shaking slightly and it has nothing to do with the gentle rain now falling from the night sky. They're supposedly here to say _Pansy Parkinson._ Why on Earth Draco thought Pansy fucking Parkinson could help Harry, she has no clue. Clearly, he's insane.  

Draco presses the buzzer again, tapping his foot impatiently against the pavement.  

"It's one o'clock in the fucking morning Draco, what do you want?" Pansy's voice crackles over the speaker.  

"I have a solution to your problem." he replies calmly.  

Solution to her problem? What the hell does that mean?  

There's a pause, a sigh and then "Fine, come on up."  

Draco opens the door, leads her across the lobby to the stairs and climbs up to the fifth landing before making a right. Hermione wants to tell him to stop, to think about this. Because so far, this wasn't making any sense to her. How exactly was Harry the solution to her problem? But Draco's walking quickly, and before she knows it they've stopped.  

Draco knocks and a second later Pansy opens the door, clad in a silky black babydoll top and matching panties, a cigarette in her hand and her hair tousled. Hermione looks at the ground immediately.  

She sees Pansy's legs move to the left, allowing them to enter her flat. Hermione's cheeks are a bright red at this point. Seeing Pansy in her intimates was not part of Hermione's plans tonight.  

"Pansy, put on some clothes first. Then I'll explain." Draco tells her.  

Hermione hears Pansy sigh and head down the hall to her bedroom. Draco smirks at her and she scowls.  

"Never seen another woman in her knickers?" he whispers.  

She nudges him in the rib and moves to sit on the couch. There's an overflowing ashtray and wrinkled magazines all over the coffee table, not to mention the two empty bottles of wine and a stained wine glass. Draco sits down next to her, so close their legs are touching.  

Pansy returns in a pair of shorts that hardly cover her knickers and a black tank top. She lights a cigarette and flops down on the armchair.  

"Talk. I was enjoying an evening to myself and I'd quite like to get back to that." she says, not addressing Hermione at all.  

"We want you to come and talk to Potter." Draco says flatly.  

Pansy's hand is halfway to her mouth, the smoke from her cigarette curling higher and higher into the air. Her eyes are narrowed into slits. Hermione watches the repeated clenching of her jaw, the fear in her eyes.  

"Does _she_ have to be here for this conversation?" Pansy hisses, as though Hermione couldn't possibly hear her.  

Hermione scowls. "Harry's my best mate. So yes, I'd like to be here for this conversation."  

Pansy says nothing and Draco is rubbing his temples. Not enough alcohol.  

"Look," Draco says more harshly than he means to. "According to Granger, Potter won't leave his room. And well, you're-" 

"A bitch." 

"I was going to say brutally honest." he drawls at her interruption. "And the most unsympathetic person I've ever met, so we thought maybe you could convince him to leave his room."  

Hermione looks at Draco as though he's mad. And he is, she thinks. Brutally honest? Lack of sympathy? How the hell was that going to help anyone? Let alone Harry? 

"Potter hates me." Pansy reminds her long time friend.  

Hermione eyes the young woman sitting across from them. There's something off about the tone of her voice—a hint of sadness, regret, disappointment? She can't quite place it.  

"Maybe. But you wanted to make it up to him." Draco retorts with ease.  

Pansy rolls her eyes and gets up from the armchair, stamping her cigarette out in the overfilled ashtray. She crosses her arms over chests and ponders for a moment, ignoring both of them.  

"Fine." she says at last.  

What else could she possibly have to lose? 

 

 **2:20 am**  

Ron is standing with his mouth hanging open when Hermione, Draco and Pansy walk through the front door of Grimmauld Place. He's in a pair of too short pajama bottoms and a wrinkled gray t-shirt, his hair sticking up in odd places.  

"Sorry Ron, did we wake you?" Hermione asks, stopping to observe him.  

"No, erm-" 

But he doesn't need to say more. Hermione understands. Knows why he's awake in the middle of the night. Though Ron doesn't know it, Draco and Pansy understand perfectly too. No one can manage much sleep these days.  

"What's she doing here?" Ron asks, directing his gaze to Pansy.  

"I'm here to help Potter. Problem?" Pansy's voice is cold and defensive as she glares at the red head from the stairs.  

Ron, however, doesn't seem to even register her response. Hermione stares at him, chewing on her bottom lip with worry.  

"I'll make some tea for us, yeah? Tea's always good..." Ron mumbles before shuffling down to the kitchen.  

Pansy merely raises an eyebrow before continuing up the stairs as if she knows where's she going. Draco follows suit and Hermione sighs before following the pair of them up the darkened hallway.  

Her feet feel heavy and her head hurts. Like her brain might explode. Suddenly, she doesn't want to do this anymore. She wants Pansy gone from her home. Wants to crawl into her bed with Draco and sleep for weeks on end. She forces her feet to take one step after another until Pansy and Draco step aside, waiting for her to lead the way.  

"It's just one more flight." she tells them, numb and tone void of any enthusiasm.  

Draco comes up close behind her and places his hand on the small of her back. Hermione tenses at first, but her muscles relax when he smiles at her.  

"You alright?" he whispers to her, his face right next to hers.  

She nods but he can tell by the look on her face something is off.  

Hermione leads them down a hallway and stops in front of a plain, wooden door.  

"Well, this is it." she says with a heavy sigh, as those it just took all of her energy to say those three words.  

Pansy smiles at her briefly before yanking open the door. The room was completely dark and silent. Hermione found herself wondering if Harry was in there at all.  

"I think I've got it from here." Pansy says with a wink.  

Hermione begins to protest but Pansy slams the door in her face and Draco is whispering in her ear.  

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to your room."  

Hermione nods numbly and moves towards the stairs without a word to Draco. They go down one flight before making a left. Hermione pushes open her door and Draco follows. She collapses onto her bed and curls into a ball. Draco lies down behind her, puts his arms around her waist, pulls her in, holds her tight. She felt thin and fragile in his arms, so broken and small. His heart ached and his chest tightened.  

Her body began to shake with heavy sobs; her tears dripping onto her sheets. Draco buried his nose in her hair and squeezed her tightly.  

"Talk to me, Hermione. Please." he whispers softly.  

But she can't. Not at the moment. Her throats on fire and her lungs are begging for oxygen. And she doesn't really know why she's crying. Everything just feels wrong and her heart hurts all the time but yet, somehow, she feels empty. So fucking empty and cold. She's crying for no reason at all, and yet, she's crying because of everything. The children screaming in terror as spells fired around them all. The nights spent in a tent in the middle of nowhere, wondering if their friends were still alive. Harry, dear sweet Harry, walking to his death. The lives they lost. It was everything and nothing all at once.  

"It's everything..." she says hoarsely, finally.  

Draco sighs into her. His brain stops working. Words don't seem like enough. Not for moments like this. When your bones ache and moving requires too much energy and you're spiraling downwards at a constant rate.  

"I know." he replies. "I know."  

"Draco?" she sounds like a child—scared and vulnerable and innocent.  

"Hm?"  

"Please don't leave." it's so soft he barely hears her.  

He hugs her tighter and rubs slow circles against her stomach with the tip of his fingers.  

"I won’t."  

They're still a bit drunk and stoned as they lay there together, listening to the other breathe, each lost in their own thoughts. Draco gets lost in the feel of her of her curls against his cheeks and the rise and fall of her back against his chest. Only when he's absolutely sure that she's asleep does he allow his eyes to drift shut and his body succumb to slumber.  

 

 **6:58 am**  

Draco turns away from Hermione, a familiar sinking feeling in his chest. He can feel the tears building in his eyes. His heart hurts—it's so heavy, weighing him down. He's staring at his arm, at the ugly black ink stain upon it when he feels Hermione stirring next to him. Draco grabs the blanket to cover his arm but it's too late. Hermione is peering over his shoulder, her chin resting in the crook of his neck.  

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.  

Her fingertips are grazing the hairs on his skin as she gently caresses his unmarked arm.  

"I don't like talking about it." he spits out; sometimes it's so hard to get his words out.  

She scoffs under her breath and presses her body against his.  

"I talk to you about things." she says.  

Draco rolls his eyes even though she can't see. "Hardly."  

There's silence, and for a moment Draco thinks he's gone and ruined it all. Just like he's ruined everything else in his life. But then she's sitting up and climbing over him. Draco watches as she scrambles out of bed, her clothes rumpled and her hair a disaster, to search through her bag for something. After a moment or two, she pulls out what she was looking for and returns to the bed.  

She sits cross-legged across from him and lights the joint she had retrieved from her bag. She exhales before handing it to him. He takes it without hesitation and takes a hit. His throat burns in a now familiar way and it's nice, he realizes. His shoulders droop slightly as he exhales.  

They pass the joint back and forth until it's nearly half gone. Hermione had opened her window, allowing the cool morning summer breeze to drift in. His head felt clearer, his thoughts no longer swirling like a brewing storm. The weight in his chest felt lighter, like it was easier to breathe.  

Hermione's staring out the window; what she's looking at he doesn't know. He's too preoccupied with the way the sun is hitting her skin—illuminating her eyes, making her skin glow. He's never seen someone look so peaceful.  

"This helps." he says quietly, eyeing the joint lying between them.  

Hermione nods. "Yes, it does."  

"Everyone at the Ministry looks at me like I'm a disease, or something. Like-" 

"You're something vile or repulsive or dirty or unworthy of occupying space and air and-" 

"Yeah."  

"Yeah."  

More silence. He drinks in her words. She knows exactly how he feels. And it's that thought alone that crushes him. _He_ used to look at her that way. Everyone he ever surrounded himself with had looked at her that way. Like she was dragon dung on the bottom of their shoes.  

"Hermione-" 

"Don't apologize to me, Draco. That was a long time ago and-and we're talking about you right now. Not me." her voice is stern and her jaw clenches when she speaks.  

Draco sighs and rubs his hands over his face. How can he not apologize? How can she tell him it's fine and forgotten? It shouldn't be this simple, he thinks to himself. It's _not_ this simple.  

"My life is a mess, Hermione. _I'm_ a mess. I'm trapped to a ruddy flat for two years and stuck at a job where people can't even stand to look me in the eyes. And—everything is just so...fucked up."  

"Yes, it is." she says quietly, drawing her knees to her chest.  

Draco sighs again and falls silent. He's silently fuming. Angry at the Wizarding World. He used to be on top. And then his father, his father went and fucked everything up. People _hate_ him now. They look at him the way some would look at people _like her. Mudbloods._  

"Draco?" she says, now reaching out to take his hand in hers.  

Her skin is soft and warm, a sharp contrast to his own calloused hands.  

"Hm?"  

"Nothing lasts forever."  

Draco focuses on their hands—the way hers fits in his perfectly. The feel of their palms touching. His heart sinks at her words. And he finds himself thinking, please, if there's one thing that _could_ last forever. Let it be this. Let it be them.  

 

 **12:05 pm**  

Draco lets the scalding water hit his pale, dull skin. After having a minimal breakfast consisting of coffee and toast, and laying in bed talking for hours with Hermione, he left Grimmauld Place to clean himself up. He felt _better_ now than he did earlier this morning, more refreshed. Awake. Present.  

He runs his hands through his hair, down his neck and chest. There's energy coursing through his veins today. It's electric, it's alive, it's intoxicating all on its own.  

He shampoos and conditions and soaks for a few more minutes, before washing his body and finishing up.  

He wraps himself in a fluffy towel, the one thing he must have if this shithole was his home, dresses quickly and combs through his hair with his fingers.  

Draco manages to tidy up his room (which had dirty socks and empty plates scattered about) and do a load of laundry before the exhaustion sets back in. It was something at least.  

 

 **July 18th**  

 **6:32 pm**  

Hermione finishes off her Chinese take out and tosses down the empty carton onto his coffee table. Draco smirks as he takes another bite of white rice.  

"So, what should we do tonight?" she asks, sounding restless.  

Draco shrugs. He doesn't care much about what they do, just as long as she's with him. Hermione seems annoyed by this though.  

"What?" he asks, forgetting about his dinner.  

Hermione paces in his tiny living room, thinking, thinking, thinking. She's biting her lip and muttering to herself. Draco rolls his eyes and leans forward on the couch.  

"Hermione, what?"  

She stops. Her expression seems troubled, pained.  

"I feel anxious, restless. I don't know. I just—I don't want to be inside. _I want to do something. Anything."_ she speaks so quickly Draco can hardly distinguish her words.  

And then. It comes to him. The perfect distraction.  

"I ran into Blaise a few days ago. He invited us to a party tonight. In the woods."  

Hermione cocks an eyebrow at this, clearly interested.  

"You told Blaise you and I are friends?" is the first thing she says.  

Draco flinches at the casual way she says friends but nods. "Well, yeah."  

"And I'm invited too?"  

"Why would you not be?"  

Hermione looks down at her bare arm; Draco groans inwardly. He doesn't want to look at it, he tries very hard to completely ignore it actually. Easier said than done, of course. But he tries.  

"Blaise grew up, I guess. Just like me." he can physically hear how sad and pathetic he sounds and he wants to slap himself right across his pointy face.  

She shoots him a pitiful look and shrugs.  

"It's surprising, that's all."  

"Looks like it's time to start getting used to it." he says.  

Hermione smiles and Draco swears to himself he's never seen anything more beautiful.  

 

 **9:23 pm**  

It's a bit too chilly for a summer night but Draco doesn't mind as he and Hermione walk through the woods, arm in arm, filling the silence around them with quiet conversation. He _loves_ talking to Hermione; about books, Potions, their favorite breakfast foods, muggle movies he just had to watch and just...everything. She was the first person he's come across that he's been so open, so carefree with. Everything was easier with her.  

She laughs at something he says and he wishes he could make her laugh like this forever. So that he'd never have to see that empty look in her eyes again. He's fought her demons time and time again, just to wipe that look off her face.  

Hermione leans her head on his arm and sighs. It's not a sigh of sadness or pondering—it's more out of content. He knows she cherishes these moments as much as she does. When everything feels okay and you do everything you can to hang onto it, to savor it.  

They can hear chatter and laughing as they walk. A fire comes into view and they can see the outlines of the partygoers dance and mingle around the fire. Draco feels Hermione tense against him. He feels stupid for not realizing how nervous she might be. Being surrounded by people who had hated her at some point, and some who still might. Truth be told, he hadn't the faintest idea who was actually coming. Something he probably should have talked to Blaise about when he saw him four days ago.  

"It'll be fun. Just stay with me." he tells her as they enter the clearing.  

Hermione smiles weakly at him. Like she wants to believe him but can't quite bring herself to do it.  

Blaise sees them and wanders over, holding up his index finger to a group of guys with a drink occupying his other hand. Draco smiles as his friend approaches them and lets go of Hermione. He hugs Blaise briefly before letting go.  

"Good to see you, mate." Blaise says, clapping a hand on his shoulder.  

"As is you, Blaise." he replies. "Who's here exactly by the way?"  

Blaise blows air through his lips and looks around, as though he has to think about it.  

"Well, Pansy's here. With Potter. So that's a bit strange. Theo's here, of course. Marcus showed up. Vincent and Crabbe are here, drunk already, no surprise there. Hmmm...Millicent, Astoria and Daphne. Oh and a few blokes from work. They're alright."  

Draco nods. Of course this party is filled with Slytherins, and even worse, Purebloods.  

"Hey Granger." Blaise says politely, tipping his drink towards her. "Glad you could come."  

Hermione perks up a bit at this. "Are you?"  

Blaise smirks and his eyes flicker to Draco briefly before returning his gaze to Hermione.  

"Well as Draco couldn't shut up about you when I ran into him the other day, yes, I am thoroughly ecstatic that I won't have to babysit his broody arse tonight."  

Hermione peaks at him out of the corner of her eyes and he thinks he sees the corners of her mouth twitch. _He wants to die._ Or punch Blaise. Either one would suffice.  

"Show me where the drinks are?" is all she says to Blaise.  

Blaise cocks an eyebrow and mouths to Draco 'I like her'. Draco groans and imagines how differently this night could have gone if he hadn't suggested this party. Embarrassment didn't sit well with him.  

 

 **11:14 pm**  

Hermione is fucking wasted and it's the greatest thing he's ever seen. She's _laughing,_ and dancing with Pansy and Daphne and smiling at him like she's having the time of her life. He's standing off to the side next to Blaise and Theo; all three of them watching in amusement.  

"Thanks for completely embarrassing me earlier, by the way." Draco says coolly, sipping from his beer bottle.  

Blaise shakes his head, laughing and looking at Theo like he understands what's going on.  

"Mate, I did you a fucking favor." he says, gripping Draco by the shoulder. "She's into you. I can tell."  

Draco rolls his eyes and kicks the tree stump next to them. "Don't mess with me like that Blaise. Much as you may disagree, it's not funny."  

"Draco, seriously. Can't you see the way she looks at you?" Blaise is looking him directly in the eyes now, his face stern.  

"You're into Granger?" Theo comments, a bit too loudly for Draco's liking.  

"Gods Theo, shut up!" he hisses, risking a glance in Hermione's direction.  

Thankfully, her back is turned to them. She has her head thrown back and her hips are swaying to the beat of the song. Draco gets lost in her movements momentarily before shaking his head and returning to his two arseholes he calls friends.  

They're both smirking at him, drunk as can be.  

"Make a move." Blaise tells him with earnest.  

Draco shakes his head. Truthfully, the thought of it scared him out of his wits. And he's seen people drop dead on the floors of his home countless times. He's been tortured himself. He'd rather both those things than even thinking about _this._  

"Not tonight. Not like this. Not when we're-"  

"Oh come off it. You don't have to sleep with her. Just...do something, mate."  

"No."  

Blaise rolls his eyes and moves a little closer. His voice drops to a murmur.  

"After everything we've been through, Draco, don't you think we deserve something good?"  

Draco's eyes flicker to Hermione. The fire's illuminating her skin—she looks younger in this light. Or maybe it's the absence of sadness that's brightening her features. Either way, she's breathtaking.  

"She's your something good."  

 _Yes, this may be true,_ Draco thinks to himself. _The only problem is I definitely do not deserve her._  

 

 **July 19th**  

 **12:** **23 am**  

Hermione stumbles over to him, a smile plastered on her face. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are actually fucking _sparkling_. She's going to be the death of him he knows it. She nearly trips on a rock and starts to fall forward when he closes the distance. She's clutching onto his shirt, her chest heaving.  

"I want another drink." She's actually fucking pouting at him.  

"Me too," he says as casually as he can muster. "Let's grab another beer."  

She links his arm through his, like always and together they make their way to the coolers filled with beer and vodka and wine coolers. Hermione grabs a beer and he grabs one as well. They decide to hide out in one of the many tents set up in the clearing—it had been decided no one would be leaving the clearing tonight.  

He sits down as she zips up the tent. His heart is racing at this point. Even though deep down he's appreciative of the privacy. The overall chatter was starting to piss him off. She clambers over to him and sits down next to him. She rests her head on his shoulder and sighs. He can just barely see the grin on her face.  

"What?" he asks.  

She pauses for a moment. He can feel her studying him. She was practically burning a hole in his head.  

"I like being with you." she says airily. 

His heart leaps but his brain is telling him to relax. She's drunk. She doesn't realize what she's saying. It doesn't mean anything.  

Before he can say anything, he feels her hand on his cheek. She's turning his head towards hers—her hand moves to his neck and she's pulling him down. Her lips are parted slightly and when they meet he sighs into her. She's so soft, more than he could ever imagine. And Merlin, she's warm. And she tastes fucking delightful.  

She presses into him and tightens her hold on his neck. A low groan escapes his throat. She's practically in his lap at this point, her hands now running through his hair. He's swallowing her moans and his hands can't stop exploring every curve, every inch of her he can reach. She's thoroughly intoxicating. Kissing doesn't feel like enough. He just wants more, more, more. He wants all of her.  

She breaks away, her eyes are wide and filled with lust. Her hands are still in his hair. Her chest is heaving and face is flushed. Her lips are only centimeters from his. He can feel her breath on his nose.  

"Take me away Draco." she breathes.  

He doesn't waste another second. He gently pushes her down until she's lying on the floor of the tent. He climbs onto of her and presses his lips to hers again. Her hands wander the length of his back. She grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. He's undoing the buttons of her flannel as she peppers kisses up and down his neck.  

His fingers push the fabric aside, his thumbs graze the warm skin of her stomach. She moans softly, deepening their kiss. His hands travel up to her chest, push aside her cotton bra and gently grope her breasts. Her hands are pushing down her pants. She tosses them aside and he stops for a moment—to drink her in. From her bushy hair fanning out around her to her partially exposed stomach to her bare legs. Her very long, slender bare legs. Merlin, she's killing him. His pants are tight and he's physically aching for her. She seems to read his mind because her hands are unbuttoning his pants and tugging them down his legs, taking his underwear with them.  

Draco practically rips off her knickers and tosses them to his left. He's kissing her lips, her jaw, her neck. He's moving to her breasts. She's gripping his hair, his shoulders, his arms as takes a nipple into his mouth. He moans against her skin and she bucks against him. She whines and tugs on his hair. He laughs and presses his body into hers. She growls. Her nails dig into his back.  

He's moving down her stomach, stopping to bite at her hips. He pushes her legs further apart and lowers himself between her thighs. He takes her into his mouth. Her back arches at his touch, her lips are parted and she's trying her hardest to keep the sounds to a minimum.  

Draco stops. _He wants to hear her._ "Do you have your wand?"  

Hermione shakes her head. Draco curses under his breath but continues the slow circular motions he had been doing just seconds before. Her hands are in his hair again as he teases, licks, tugs, nibbles. She's moaning and gasping and whimpering. Melting into a puddle right before his eyes.  

He stops just as her cries begin to escalate. He thinks she might actually start to cry. But he's swiftly and quickly sinking his length into her. She arches into him, her arms wrapping around him, her lips grazing his.  

They move gracefully, rhythmically, harmoniously. They're a mess of limbs and whimpers and salty kisses. The world melts away around them. They can't hear the laughter or the music. Nothing exists except them. She's all he sees.  

He's kissing every inch of her he can reach. She's bucking her hips upwards to meet his. He's soaring high in the sky. He feels light as a feather. He wants to scream but instead buries his face in the crook of her neck. Her legs are shaking and she's crying out, dragging her nails down his back. He grips her tightly as he comes to a stop and their breathing slows.  

They lie there for a few moments, just like this. Feeling the warmth held between them. Running their hands over each others skin. Hermione moves first. She wriggles and he moves. She gathers her clothes and dresses. Draco does the same. He isn't sure what to do now but Hermione is lying down again, pulling him with her.  

They're lying side by side and she settles against his chest. He watches her eyes flutter shut. It was amazing really. How easily she fell asleep sometimes. He smiles down at her, kisses the top of her head and settles for staring at the ceiling of the tent until sleep came and took him away too.  

 

 **July 24th**  

 **7:04 pm**  

Draco bangs on the door of Grimmauld Place. He was going to demand to see her. Again. But this time, they were going to comply.  

After the party in the woods, Hermione avoided him. She stopped coming to the coffee shop in the mornings, she wasn't at the bookshop and every time he stopped by Grimmauld Place, Ron told him she was sleeping or in the shower or not feeling well.  

Now, he was sick of it.  

The door opens and it's Harry who answers the door. Pansy is standing over his shoulder.  

"Oh, Malfoy. Listen, Hermione's-" 

"Let me in Potter." he says, his voice husky and angry.  

Pansy rolls her eyes and slides her arms around Harry's waist.  

"Just let him in. He's not going to stop until you do anyway."  

Draco arches an eyebrow, as if to say you know she's right. Harry sighs and steps aside.  

"She's in her bedroom. It's the-" 

"I know where it's at." he replies with a wave of his hand.  

It was time for some answers. He marches up the stairs two at a time. When he reaches her bedroom, he finds himself stopping to knock. But there's no need because the door is wrenched open from the inside and Hermione is staring at him in shock.  

"Draco-" 

"You are such a hypocrite, you know that?" he snaps.  

He's fuming. And maybe he means that and maybe he doesn't. Either way he'll probably regret it later.  

"You come knocking down my door when I don't show up for a day but when you're gone for five-" 

"Please stop." she begs, desperation dripping from every word. 

"Look," she says, biting her lip and avoiding his eyes. "About the other night..."  

That's all he needs to hear. Those words. Nothing good is going to come from this. Not after she spent five days avoiding him. Blaise had been wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. His heart is already shattered.  

"I just...I don't think I'm ready for any sort of relationship right now. I'm not...I'm not in a good mental state and-" 

"I understand." he says, not wanting to hear any more of this.  

It makes sense. Truly, it does. For Salazar's sake, it's not as if he's sane right now either. They're all fucked up. Falling apart while trying to put themselves back together.  

"I still want to you know, hang out with you and stuff." it's awkward and her voice is higher than usual.  

There's more silence. Because he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't even know if he can speak. He feels like a fool. A sad, pathetic fool.  

"Do you still want to hang out with me?"  

Draco sighs and looks at her. It's the first time in five days that she's looking directly at him. And fuck does his heart hurt. Because he can't say no. Wouldn't dream of it. Didn't want to even think of a day spent without seeing her at least once.  

"Of course." he assures her.  

She smiles in relief and hugs him tightly. He breathes her in and strokes her hair.  

 _How could I not?_  

 


End file.
